


The Prodigal Father

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [16]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Drama, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Porthos, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: Porthos learns who his father is, a revelation that could destroy everything he’s built for himself.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 8
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some dialogue from episode 2x8 in this fic.

Porthos stared sullenly ahead at nothing as he meandered a leisurely pace on horseback down the country lane toward his destination. Normally he would have taken Vrita to cut down on travel time, but for this occasion he needed the prolonged journey to think about what he was walking into.

"It's been two hours," Aramis spoke up from beside him and a horse's head length back. "You haven't said a word."

Porthos had idly wondered how long it would take for his friend to say something. The only reason Aramis was here was because the captain had told him to go with Porthos. No explanation, just a look. Aramis hadn't questioned it, even when Porthos had gone to saddle a horse instead of his dragon. He'd been waiting for Porthos to be forthcoming—Porthos was honestly surprised how long he'd lasted—but evidently his patience had finally worn out.

"Whatever the captain told you must have been significant," he went on.

"He told me who my father was," Porthos said brusquely. "Is that significant enough fer you?"

Aramis fell silent at that. Porthos hadn't meant for his response to be so cutting; he was angry with Treville, not Aramis. Treville had known all this time who Porthos's father was and had never told him. General de Foix had known too, Porthos was sure of it. That was why the man had seemed taken aback at their first meeting.

The general was dead now, and Treville had come to Porthos immediately afterward to drop this earth-shattering news on him. There had been no explanation, no answers to his questions. Treville had merely cautioned him to think about what he did next. As if there was any other choice than to track down the man who sired him and who was apparently alive and well.

A large wrought iron gate appeared at the end of the lane ahead, enclosing the estate Treville had said belonged to Porthos's father. It looked locked with chains, which was going to prove problematic for reaching the house. Perhaps they should have ridden their dragons after all, though Porthos wasn't sure that was the type of entrance he wanted to make.

There was a commotion on the other side of the gate and Porthos caught sight of two girls running through the trees. A man on horseback was following, shouting and cracking a whip at them. They reached the gate just as the musketeers did, throwing themselves at the bars as their pursuer bore down on them.

"Get away from the gate!" the man shouted, accent thick. "Yah! What are you doin'!" He snapped the whip at them again.

"Hey!" Porthos barked, pulling his horse to a stop outside the gate. "What's goin' on here?"

"What business is it of yours?" the man retorted sharply.

"What have these girls done?" Aramis demanded.

"They're my wife's maids. They stole from her. Move! Now!" He cracked the whip at them again and one of the girls cried out as she turned and fled back toward the house. The other girl remained where she was, clinging to the bars of the gate in abject terror.

"Is this true?" Aramis asked her.

Her lip trembled and she looked fearfully back at the horseman, then gave a jerky nod.

"Now, tell me what you want here," the man snapped.

Porthos tore his attention away from the maid, remembering what he'd come for. "We've come to see the Marquis de Belgard."

"Then you've wasted your time. He doesn't receive visitors." He whipped the girl again. "Come on!"

She prized herself away from the gate and darted after her friend. Porthos's jaw clenched at the harsh treatment, but he wasn't going to get into an argument and be deterred from his primary goal.

"He'll receive me," he declared.

The man stared at him for a moment, then sneered and dismounted from his horse to come unlock the gate. "Head straight up the path," he said with a notable tone of disdain. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

He then climbed back onto his horse and rode after the maids.

"Nice fellow," Aramis remarked dryly.

Porthos didn't comment. He nudged his horse forward and followed the lane up to a large house that had faded and cracked siding and was half covered in overgrown ivy plants. They left their horses out front and went to knock on the door. No one answered, and after several long moments they simply tried the handle and found it unlocked. Aramis arched a brow and Porthos just shrugged before letting himself in.

The inside was in as terrible disrepair as the outside. Everything was dusty and cluttered. Cobwebs were thick in some corners, and half the curtains were drawn closed, leaving the place dim and gray. Porthos couldn't believe anyone actually lived here.

He lingered in the foyer, not sure what to do now. It wouldn't be polite to just go roaming through the house. But fortunately a few minutes later a servant came scurrying in.

"We're here to see the Marquis," Porthos said.

The woman bobbed her head and didn't say a word before hurrying off, presumably to announce them.

Aramis roved an appraising eye around but didn't comment on what he thought of the place.

"What the hell do you want?" a rough voice sounded from the shadows of a hallway.

Porthos straightened. "I'm looking for the Marquis de Belgard."

Footsteps scuffed along the floor as a figure emerged. "You've found him. Who are you?"

Porthos faltered at the sight of the man that appeared before him, dressed in bed robes, shoulders hunched, hair wildly falling across his shoulders. He hadn't known what to expect when he came here, but this person was…not that impressive, was Porthos's first reaction.

He swallowed and forced out the words he came here to say. "My name is Porthos. I'm your son."

"Who told you this nonsense?" was Belgard's immediate response.

"Captain Treville of the Musketeers."

Belgard piqued at that. "Treville? It was his treachery that ruined my life."

Yet another reaction Porthos hadn't been expecting. Damn the captain for not telling him more!

"That's our captain you're slandering," Aramis rejoined with a thread of warning. In the past, Porthos would have been just as quick to defend Treville, but he no longer knew what to think or feel.

"That's my friend Aramis," he said instead. "Also of the Musketeers."

"If you knew what I do, you would not take your captain at his own valuation," Belgard responded disparagingly. "What else did he tell you about me?"

"Not much," Porthos replied.

Belgard looked thoughtful for a moment. "You'd better come in. Your friend can wait here," he added tersely.

Porthos exchanged a look with Aramis before following this man—his _father_ —down a dark corridor to a study.

"Forgive the mess," Belgard said. "Since I withdrew from the world of affairs, I spend most of my time alone, here. I'm something of a recluse."

Yeah, Porthos could see that. He looked around the dreary room, illuminated faintly by one narrow window not shuttered.

"You must know the story of the infamous Marquis de Belgard?" Belgard continued. "I was captain of the royal bodyguard, the day the present King's father was assassinated. But Henri died at the hands of a lunatic and a scapegoat was required. I was court-martialed. Treville and de Foix both gave false evidence—"

"With all due respect," Porthos interrupted. "That's not why I'm here." In fact he didn't know the story; of course the tragedy of the previous King's assassination was known, but not these details Belgard was abruptly painting.

"You want to know if I'm your father?" Belgard surmised. "I believe I am. You have the look of your mother about you—Marie-Cessette, the love of my life."

Porthos's jaw tightened. "The 'love of your life' died abandoned an' in despair, in the slum they call 'The Court of Miracles,'" he spat.

"If I had only known, I would have moved heaven and earth to find you."

Porthos didn't know what to say to that. It was a sentiment he'd yearned to hear, yearned to be true, but it didn't change the past, didn't change the fact that he and his mother had been abandoned, that she'd died and Porthos had been left on his own, an orphan to grow up on the streets in abject poverty while his father lived the life of a Marquis. If Belgard had known, he would have come after them? Why, then, hadn't he known?

Belgard gestured to him. "Come, we have much to discuss. I'll summon the servants to prepare the midday meal."

Porthos nodded stiffly. There was much to discuss, he just wasn't sure where to even start. This was all a bit overwhelming for him and he was trying not to show it.

They left the study and headed back down the hallway to where they'd left Aramis. Porthos heard a woman's voice coming from the foyer.

"I'll have the servants bring you refreshments before you leave," she was saying curtly.

Aramis shifted awkwardly. "We're, um…"

"We're stayin' for dinner," Porthos interjected, drawing both their gazes.

"Ah, Eleanor," Belgard said. "There you are. Meet your half-brother, Porthos."

The look the woman gave them was one of scandalized shock. Porthos couldn't really blame her, and that introduction had been rather abrupt. The tension in the room was palpable, crackling like the tingling before a thunderstorm. Eleanor's cheek ticked as she composed herself, and she turned sharply on her heel and swept out of the room.

Aramis flicked a discomfited look at Porthos, who gave a subtle shrug in return.

Belgard led them to the dining room, which was in no better shape than the rest of the house. It was deep within the chateau, so there were no windows and the only light was from a fireplace and some candles. It made for a rather dark gathering place.

Two servants bustled in to set the table. They didn't make eye contact with anyone and skittered away as soon as the meal was laid out.

Shortly after that, the doors slammed open and Eleanor came in, followed by the man they'd met at the gate.

"This is Eleanor's husband, Levesque," Belgard introduced with stark indifference.

The Irishman curled his lip up at the musketeers again before striding toward the table. Porthos waited to see where everyone else was going to sit before he took the chair to Belgard's left. Aramis sat next to him, across from Levesque. Eleanor sat at her father's right hand.

Belgard picked up a goblet of wine and raised it. "To my son, Porthos, who was lost and is found."

An uncomfortable feeling niggled at Porthos's gut, despite the fact that this was more or less the reception he'd only dreamed of having. He wasn't naive enough to believe a son of mixed descent, and likely a bastard too, would be embraced by the nobility side of the family.

"Raise your glass, Eleanor," Belgard said with a note of warning.

She didn't move.

"I understand," Porthos spoke up, hoping to diffuse the tension. "It's a lot to take in."

Levesque surged to his feet, bumping the table. "My wife is not related to you!"

"Forgive him, Porthos," Belgard said. "He comes from trade and lacks any breeding." He skewered Levesque with a scathing glare. "I loved this man's mother and will not have him abused. Now, sit down and behave yourself."

"You say you loved his mother," Aramis put in candidly. "What happened?"

Porthos's stomach clenched again, but he was grateful his friend was there because it was the question he wanted answered but hadn't been able to bring himself to ask yet.

"She came to this house as a servant," Belgard replied, directing his explanation to Porthos. "We fell in love and married in secret. After you were born, my father discovered the truth and ordered me to cast you both aside. I refused. A few days later…you and your mother disappeared. Treville and de Foix were in league with my father. They told me you were dead.''

Porthos frowned at that twist in the tale.

"I never stopped thinking of you," Belgard went on earnestly. "But in the end, and for the sake of my family name…I married this girl's mother." He cast a dismissive nod Eleanor's direction.

"I won't listen to this," she hissed and got up from the table.

"Eleanor has her looks, but also her character—shrewish and spiteful."

Levesque slammed a fist on the table. "Apologize, damn you!"

"Look, whoa, whoa," Porthos interjected. "Jus' sit down, eh? I didn't come here to cause a fight."

"We know why you came here!" Levesque took out a coin purse and threw it at Porthos. "There! Take your hand-out and go!"

Porthos's jaw ticked and he had to fight to maintain his composure. "I'm givin' you a chance," he said calmly. "Sit down now an' we'll let this pass."

Levesque spat in his face.

"Hey!" Aramis was on his feet quicker than a musket shot, enraged. Only the table between them prevented both of them from making a more direct move. Aramis pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to Porthos, who stolidly wiped the spit off his face.

"You brought this on yourself," he said lowly, getting up and moving away from the table.

Levesque rounded the table, grinning wolfishly. He threw the first punch, which Porthos easily blocked with his left and delivered a right hook in turn. Levesque's head snapped to the side briefly, his nostrils flaring with rage. He struck again, and again Porthos deflected the blow, following through with a sucker punch to the stomach. Levesque cried out and dropped to his knees.

"You savage!" Eleanor shrieked, rushing toward her husband.

Aramis stepped into Porthos's space, angling himself just slightly between him and the defeated man on the floor. "Porthos, that's enough," he said quietly. "Unless you want to kill him."

Porthos kind of did want to do that, but it hardly made for a good family reunion, so he released a breath and backed off.

Belgard was still sitting at the table, leaning on the armrest and watching with an almost feral eagerness glinting in his eyes. "A champion, at last," he said. "A son to defend my honor."

The remark was perhaps odd, but Porthos couldn't help but straighten with pleasure at hearing his father was _proud_ of him.

.o.0.o.

Aramis stepped out of the house, needing some air after that tense dinner. Something about this whole family was off-putting. But they were Porthos's family and he deserved the chance to get to know them. For whatever they were worth. Aramis hadn't liked the tale Belgard told of Treville and de Foix being part of a sordid plot to get rid of Porthos and his mother. He couldn't imagine the captain doing something like that.

He wanted to confer with Porthos in private, see what he thought of it all, but there wasn't opportunity yet and Porthos was still working through this mountain of revelations himself. After dinner he'd once again sequestered himself with Belgard, and Aramis hadn't been invited. It was a personal matter; Aramis understood. But the open hostility continually displayed by Eleanor and Levesque left him sorely missing some friendly company on his end.

Hooves clopped across the stone as a cart clattered under the covered archway attached to the side of the house. The man driving it slowed to a stop as Aramis stepped out. "Whoa. Steady."

Aramis roved his gaze over the single sheet covering a lump in the back. Something prickled at the hairs on the back of his neck, and he moved forward to throw the tarp back. He gaped in dismay at the body of one of the girls he'd seen at the gate, alabaster skin pale like porcelain, save for the stark bruising around her neck.

"A terrible accident."

He jerked his head up as Eleanor appeared.

"Poor Martine," she tutted, looking in the cart. "She took a fatal kick from a horse. It's all very sad."

"A kick?" Aramis repeated dubiously. "Look at her throat."

"The foolish girl slipped from a horse and became entangled in the reins," Eleanor smoothly said. "She was dragged under the animal's hooves."

Aramis glanced back at the girl's body. He knew what the marks of long, thin objects looked like—and those of fingers. Not to mention there wasn't another mark on her, not even dirt from purportedly being dragged underneath a horse.

"Where are you taking her?" he asked.

"To her parents for burial. It's the least we can do." Eleanor gave him a simpering moue and snapped her fingers. The servant driving the cart flicked the reins and moved the horse along.

Aramis gritted his teeth and forced himself to cant his head politely. He didn't believe Eleanor's story of how the girl died—she was most certainly murdered. Which begged the question: what of the other one? When Aramis had first met Eleanor and she'd said she wouldn't be sending the maids to the magistrate for stealing, he'd remarked on how enlightened such a stance was. Now he saw a second chance hadn't been her intent at all.

He meandered around the grounds, pretending to be out for an idle stroll while surreptitiously looking for signs of the other maid. The house was very large but so much of it lay empty, and Aramis didn't imagine the other girl would have been brought upstairs. The servant quarters were likely around back near the kitchens.

As he was making his way around the side of the house though, he spotted Levesque driving another cart, with the girl sitting on the bench seat beside him. Her hands were clenched in her lap and she looked just as frightened as when Aramis had first seen her.

He quickened his pace to reach his horse, which was exactly where he'd left her. Swinging up into the saddle, he followed at a distance, keeping to the trees in order to remain concealed as he trailed Levesque out of the estate and into the surrounding woods outside. It wasn't long before a hunting lodge came into view.

Aramis slowed his horse and peered through the trees as Levesque shouted something he couldn't make out. The door of the lodge opened and five men filed outside, armed with crossbows and looking ready for a hunt. Levesque grabbed the girl and dragged her off the cart.

Aramis had a very bad feeling about what was in store for that poor girl and he immediately began to calculate how to rescue her. He slid off his horse and slunk closer, evaluating his opponents and odds. But as he drew closer, he realized his worst thoughts weren't even close to reality.

"Got a pretty prize for you today," Levesque declared, thrusting the girl forward. "A lively filly who likes to run."

The men exchanged a series of grins and sniggers at that.

Levesque flung her away from him. "Go on, get!"

Her eyes were wide and terrified as the men fingered their crossbows suggestively. She whirled and bolted off into the woods. The men didn't immediately give chase, apparently content to give her a head start.

Aramis quickly backtracked to his horse and mounted up again, urging his steed to go around and hoping he would catch up to the girl before those men did.


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis galloped through the forest, wishing he had Rhaego with him. There was nothing like a fearsome dragon crashing down on the heads of unsuspecting ruffians to send them scattering like squealing swine. Not to mention a dragon's-eye view of the forest would help him track the girl more easily. He'd gone left around the group of men who'd set off to hunt her down like an animal, but if her path of flight took her right, he might not catch up to her in time.

He pushed his horse as hard as he dared, scanning the trees for signs of movement. He didn't know who these hunters were, but their cloth had looked upperclass, and he'd avoid a clash with the nobility if he could.

Though these scoundrels would certainly deserve a good thrashing.

A scream sounded ahead and Aramis urged his steed faster. He broke through the trees and onto a scene of a man aiming a crossbow at the girl, who was sprawled on the ground and crawling backwards in a futile attempt to get away. Aramis drew his pistol and fired.

The ball struck the crossbow, eliciting a yelp from the man as he recoiled his hands. Aramis yanked the reins and sharply turned his horse around.

"Come on!" he shouted at the girl, holding out his hand.

She scrambled to her feet and threw herself at his outstretched arm. Aramis seized her hand and pulled her up behind him, then kicked his horse into a gallop again. Multiple shouts rang out. A second later fire seared across his right arm. He didn't slow down.

Until his horse suddenly jerked and screamed, and then went crashing to the ground. Aramis was flung over its head and went rolling, his various weapons jabbing sharply into different parts of his body as he tumbled to a stop. He forced himself up immediately, wincing at a myriad of pains, and stumbled over to the girl who had landed in a similar heap not far from him. His horse lay unmoving, a bolt in its side. Aramis cursed under his breath as he reached to pull the maid up. Her eyes went wide at something over his shoulder and she screamed.

Aramis whipped out his second pistol and whirled, shooting the man that had been bearing down on him. Another was mere feet behind him, and Aramis dropped his pistol to draw his sword. The second hunter was armed with a rapier as well, which he brandished quickly to meet Aramis's blade with a strident screech. The burn in his arm screamed at him, and he was vaguely aware of warm wetness spreading quickly.

He ignored it and threw himself into the fight. They exchanged a series of thrusts and parries, both equally matched. Aramis pulled his main gauche and used it to catch his opponent's blade so his other was free to slip under the man's guard and pierce his side. A gasp passed parted lips before the hunter toppled sideways.

Aramis turned back to the girl. "Are you hurt?" he asked urgently as he sheathed his blades.

She gave a jerky head shake, cheeks smeared with dirt and leaves stuck in her blonde hair.

Aramis snatched up his pistols and clipped them back to his belt, then yanked his waterskin and medic kit from the saddlebags. He cast a regretful look at the horse before taking the girl by the arm. "Come on."

He led her away on foot. There were two hunters left, and Levesque. That Aramis knew of. There was no telling how many men they might call for reinforcements once they realized their "hunt" had been ruined. And while Aramis had gotten to the girl in time, they were not out of danger yet.

He could feel his sleeve clinging wetly to his arm and knew he had to stop to tend to it, but not before putting a little distance between them and their pursuers. He kept up a harried pace, urging the girl along, until they came upon a stream and an elevated embankment that would provide some cover.

"Over here," he prompted, helping her down to the bottom and gesturing for her to sit and catch her breath. He then turned his attention to his arm, craning his neck and picking at the jagged tear in his coat to get a look underneath.

Her eyes widened. "You're hurt."

"It's just a graze," he replied. Though it was bleeding rather freely. He'd have a hell of a time trying to clean and stitch it one-handed, so that wasn't an option.

Kneeling on the ground, he unrolled his med kit and took out a patch of linen. There was a tiny flask of spirits for medicinal use, and he wet the square bandage liberally.

"Can you come rip my shirt further?" he asked the girl. "I need better access."

Her throat bobbed, but she scooted closer and reached for the tattered ends of his sleeve. Though her fingers were trembling, she managed to rend the fabric of both his coat and shirt further with a few insistent tugs.

"Thank you," he said, slipping the alcohol soaked linen inside and pressing it against the wound. He sucked in a sharp breath at the burn. "You didn't steal from Eleanor, did you?" he asked as he grabbed another strip of bandage and wound it around his arm.

The maid shook her head and wordlessly took the ends to tie them together for him. He offered her a kind smile.

"I'm Aramis."

"My name's Camille."

"We're going to get out of this, Camille," he assured her, packing up his med kit and stuffing it into the folds of his sash. He then leaned over to scoop up some water to drink, and then started to reload his pistols.

When he looked up again, Camille's eyes were full of tears.

"Hey," he said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'll protect you."

That only made the tears spill over. "My friend…"

"Martine," he filled in softly.

Camille nodded, voice breaking. "They killed her."

Aramis nodded grimly in return. "I know."

"They're going to kill us too."

Aramis finished priming his last pistol. "Not if I can help it. You ready to keep moving?"

Her face pinched with momentary despair, but then she swallowed hard and nodded. They both got to their feet with some effort, and then resumed their trek through the forest.

.o.0.o.

"I expect you have questions for me," Belgard said, rounding the desk in his study to take a seat.

Porthos shifted his weight in discomfort. Yeah, he had questions.

"Why would the captain tell you my mother an' I were dead?"

"Treville and de Foix hated your mother."

Porthos frowned. "Why?"

"Jealousy, or something worse. Who knows?" He leaned forward in earnest. "But they plotted with my father to dispose of her—and you. Of course, they said they cared only for my reputation and family name. They kidnapped you in the dead of night and told your mother they would slit your throat if she tried to contact me again."

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. "I've known the captain a long time. I don' recognize the man yer describing. I mean, he made me a musketeer." Treville was honorable, brave, and deserving of the respect he commanded. He was the kind of soldier Porthos looked up to and admired.

"Why do you imagine he showed you such favor?" Belgard pressed. "Might it have been the stirring of a guilty conscience?"

Porthos didn't know what to say to that. He'd never gotten a pass in the regiment, had never been shown leniency or special treatment.

"He came to you, I take it?" Belgard went on.

"I was in the infantry. I won myself a bit of a reputation. He turned up one day an' he…he offered me a commission in the Musketeers."

"And that never struck you as odd?"

Porthos hesitated as he looked back on it. No, it hadn't struck him as odd. He was good at soldiering, lots of people said so. He'd been involved in a skirmish where the Musketeers had come in as reinforcements at the end and he'd just assumed Treville had gotten a glimpse of him then. There had never been any indication that he felt guilty for something.

And yet he'd come to Porthos out of the blue with the identity of his father, something he'd known since the beginning and had kept to himself. What was the justification for that?

"Go to him," Belgard urged. "Ask him if it's true that he abandoned you in the Court of Miracles. Make him tell you why he picked you to promote, above all others."

Porthos's throat tightened. "Yeah, I will," he said.

"But remember," Belgard warned, "he will seek to paint himself the hero of a sordid tale."

Porthos clenched his jaw. He would like to see the captain try.

"Eleanor and Levesque…" he began carefully. "They bully an' abuse you in your own house. Why do you let them do it?"

"Should I exile them and end my days alone? I've already lost one family, Porthos. Must I renounce another?"

Porthos had nothing to say to that. He wasn't sure what to make of everything he'd been told, but he was going to demand answers from Treville, and he wouldn't back down until he got them.

Bidding a temporary farewell to his father, Porthos left. He did a cursory scan of the nearby rooms in search of Aramis but didn't see him anywhere. He headed outside next. The courtyard was empty.

"Hey," he called, spotting Eleanor across the yard. "Where's Aramis?"

"Your friend?" she replied disdainfully. "He rode off earlier."

Porthos frowned. Rode off? Turning away from his half-sister, he went outside to where he'd left his horse. Aramis's wasn't there. Porthos's frown deepened in confusion that Aramis would have left without letting him know first. But maybe he'd just wanted to give Porthos and his newfound family some privacy. Not to mention their reunion so far certainly hadn't been very…comfortable. Porthos couldn't blame Aramis for not wanting to stick around when he kept being dismissed and left to his own devices; he did get bored easily. And maybe he _had_ informed someone he was leaving, but Eleanor, still in a snit as she was, had neglected to tell Porthos earlier.

There was nothing for it now, in any case, and Porthos had important business to see to. He climbed onto his horse and set off on the ride back to Paris, making the journey quicker this time at a cantering pace. This was one confrontation he was impatient to have.

Athos and d'Artagnan were in the garrison yard with Savron and Vrita when Porthos rode in.

"Where's the capt'in?" he practically growled as he dismounted swiftly.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise. "In the mess, I think…"

Porthos stormed past him, heading for the kitchen. He didn't even stop to think whether anyone else was in there before he barged in like a raging bull. Fortunately, the mess was empty save for Treville. The captain's back was to the door, but his shoulders stiffened just slightly at the intrusive entrance.

"So," he spoke in a tempered tone. "You've met your father."

Porthos didn't know why the apathetic manner infuriated him, but it did. "He told me things."

Treville slowly turned to face him. "Nothing good about me, I'm sure."

"He told me you were friends once. He said you broke wit' him because he married my mother, that that's why you turned against him." Porthos took a step forward, years of grief and questions and useless wondering fueling his ire. "He said you kidnapped us…an' told him we were dead."

"It's not as simple as that."

"Did you or not?" Porthos snapped.

Treville gazed back at him for a brief moment, then dropped his gaze a fraction. "Yes. I did. To my shame, I did." He looked up again. "But there were reasons."

Porthos gritted his teeth; he'd heard the reasons.

"Why am I a musketeer?" he demanded.

Treville quirked a confused brow. "Because you are a great warrior."

"Did you pick me because you felt guilty?" he pressed.

"No," Treville answered incredulously. "That's ridiculous. No man has ever worn the uniform with more dignity and courage than you."

Porthos clenched his fists at his sides. "Did I earn my place in the Musketeers on merit alone?"

Treville shook his head in a show of exasperation and started to turn away.

"Answer me!"

Treville drew his shoulders back, donning that authoritative mantle that made him a commanding leader. "You're not listening to me."

But Porthos no longer felt a draw to respect the man standing before him. All he could see was the truth of things shattering everything he'd thought he'd known. "All these years…I thought I got there on my own. But it was all a lie, just a fig leaf for your guilt," he spat.

"You're wrong."

Porthos reached across his chest to touch the pauldron on his shoulder, something that had meant more to him than anything, a symbol of belonging and family. But it hadn't been real. "I didn't earn this. You jus' gave it to me."

"This is what Belgard does!" Treville exploded. "He turns things round and fills your head with lies and half-truths. He did it to me and now he's doing it to you! Porthos," he implored, "trust me."

Porthos's jaw hardened and he unbuckled the pauldron from his coat. Tearing it off, he shoved it in Treville's chest, then turned and walked out. The captain didn't follow him.

Athos and d'Artagnan were still in the yard when he emerged, as was Vrita. Ever attuned to his moods, she immediately straightened and walked toward him, eyes open with concern and a desire to offer comfort. Porthos's heart clenched painfully with the realization of what all he was losing.

He reached up to lay a hand on the side of her neck. "I'm gonna miss you, old girl," he said mournfully. They'd made a good team together.

D'Artagnan visibly stiffened. "Hang on, what is that supposed to mean?"

Athos, the more quietly astute, studied Porthos carefully for another beat. "Where is your pauldron?"

Porthos forced the feelings of betrayal and loss down and steeled his tone. "I'm no longer a musketeer."

D'Artagnan's brows shot upward while Athos's eyes narrowed. Vrita made an indignant squawk.

"What happened with the captain?" Athos asked.

"I learned the truth," Porthos said bitterly. "I have no place wit' the Musketeers."

"What are you talking about?" d'Artagnan sputtered.

"Porthos," Athos interjected. "What's going on?"

"I told you," he snapped. "It's over." He pushed past them, pausing to cast one last regretful look at Vrita.

Then he forced himself to turn away and walk out of the garrison, trying to ignore the confused and shattered looks left behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

Aramis had weighed his and Camille's options and decided that heading back to the hunting lodge was their best bet. They'd be able to commandeer a horse and hopefully make a break for it before any of the remaining hunters realized where they were heading.

"How did you come to be with Levesque and Eleanor?" he asked Camille.

"Our village priest said a respectable Parisian family was looking for a governess and he wrote, recommending me for the position," she replied. "A few weeks later, she came to the village."

"Eleanor Levesque?"

Camille nodded. "She paid my father a year's wages in advance, then she took me off in her fine carriage. She gave me something to drink." Her breath caught, and Aramis paused to help her over an uneven stretch of ground. "I woke up in an outhouse," she went on. "There was another girl already there."

"Martine?" Aramis guessed.

Camille nodded again, eyes taking on a moist sheen. "Levesque came in. He said that we were his property and that we could never go home again. I told Martine that we couldn't give in, that we- we had to try to escape. And he- he killed her."

She broke down with a sob and Aramis stopped, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Was it just Eleanor and Levesque or was Belgard involved also?" he asked softly.

Camille sniffed and looked up. "Belgard? Who- who is he?"

Aramis released a breath. He was slightly relieved that Porthos's father didn't seem to be involved with this sordid business. Porthos had just found his family and Aramis didn't want to ruin that. Though, his half-sister and her husband obviously needed to be stopped, and that was bound to cause some tension.

One thing at a time though.

They continued on their way. Aramis began to feel the effects of blood loss—he was growing more sluggish and lightheaded. He stopped to check his arm a couple of times. It wasn't bleeding profusely anymore, but it could have been slowly leaking this entire time, and traipsing through the woods wasn't doing him any favors. He'd nearly emptied his waterskin trying to replenish his fluids and had to cut himself off if there was going to be any left for Camille if they were stuck out here much longer.

But finally the angular roof of the hunting lodge appeared through the thick canopy of branches ahead. Aramis signaled for Camille to stop and stay quiet as he cautiously made his way closer, staying low as he heard raised voices.

"Geralt is dead! You'd better fix this, Levesque."

"You're the ones always proclaiming your hunting prowess," the Irishman responded scathingly. "And yet you lost two prey."

One of the two remaining noblemen stepped into Levesque's space. "That man was armed with pistols."

Aramis glowered in disgust at their backs. They only cared for "prey" that couldn't fight back. But at least their argument was keeping them occupied and he slunk around the other side of the lodge toward where he heard some horses nickering. They were still saddled, thank goodness.

Aramis moved closer, whispering soothing noises when the animals stirred at his intrusion. He reached for one's reins to free from the tether.

"What the—hey!"

Aramis cursed under his breath and scrambled away from the horse as the three men who'd just come around the corner started running toward him. He drew his sword and met them head-on, the clash of steel ringing through the air and rattling his skull. A wave of dizziness nearly felled him but he gritted his teeth and held his ground.

"Camille!" he yelled. "Get on the horse!"

He continued to hold back his opponents—barely—as she broke from the cover of the trees and darted for a horse. His blade crossed with Levesque's, and the Irishman sneered at him furiously.

"You meddlin' bastard!"

The man was bearing down on him and Aramis was going to lose his balance any second, so he slid his sword free and swung around and down, catching the man across his lower leg. Levesque cried out and went down. "Mind your language," Aramis huffed, then spun to block the next strike. That move blurred his vision and only the grace of God held his blade in the right place to catch the other.

The two noblemen attacked with relentless ferocity, driving him backward with lightning strikes he was struggling to keep up with. He finally opted to stagger several steps backward and draw his pistol, shooting one of the nobles in the stomach. He then flipped his gun around to grip the warm barrel with his gloved hand and clobbered the last man standing.

None of them were fully down though, and there were several grunts and moans as they tried to pull themselves up. Aramis turned and lumbered toward where Camille was on the back of a horse and struggling with the resistant animal. He hauled himself up behind her, slipped his arms around her sides, and took the reins from her grasp. Then he sharply jerked the horse to the side and kicked it into action, galloping away from the lodge.

For a moment, Aramis considered whether or not to head for the Marquis's estate. It was closer, and Porthos needed to know about this. But if Belgard wasn't involved, Aramis didn't want to bring accusations to the Marquis without more formal charges. And a magistrate to back him up. Plus Eleanor was there, and Levesque could make his way back as well, and Aramis didn't want to risk Camille coming across them again after the trauma she'd been through. He was also losing the strength to fully defend her. So he turned toward Paris instead.

They left the forest and followed the road, the countryside rolling by. The more distance put behind them, the more Camille relaxed in front of Aramis, and soon her head was lolling forward in exhaustion. Aramis felt it too but forced himself to remain alert. As tactfully as he could, he did guide Camille back to lean against him.

It was evening by the time they entered the garrison and Aramis felt ready to drop.

"Where have you been?" Athos snapped, striding toward him.

Aramis was momentarily taken aback by the question and mood attached to it. "It's a long story, but one I think the captain should hear." He carefully swung his leg over the saddle to dismount, then held a hand up to help Camille down.

"What happened with Porthos?"

Aramis faltered. "What do you mean? He was still with his- Belgard, last I saw him."

"His father," Athos said flatly.

Aramis canted his head in confusion. "The captain told you," he surmised.

"After Porthos came back and resigned his commission."

Aramis snapped his gaze back to Athos. "What?"

"That's what we want to know. He showed up earlier, worked up about something. He went to speak with Treville and then left, saying he wasn't a musketeer anymore. Treville won't give us any details."

A chill ran through Aramis's veins. Did this have to do with what Belgard told them about Treville's role in taking Porthos from his father? He reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of nose, fighting a wave of dismay and lightheadedness.

"You're wounded," Athos said, his tone losing some of its previous edge. "What happened?"

"Like I said, it's a long story," he said tiredly. "I really do need to speak with the captain, and Camille needs some rest and sustenance."

"We'll take care of it," Athos said. "Pierre!" He waved over the passing musketeer and pointed to Camille. "Will you see her fed and given a place to clean up?"

Pierre nodded.

Aramis gave Camille an encouraging and apologetic smile. "You'll be safe here."

She glanced uncertainly between him and Pierre, but then lowered her gaze and went to follow him.

Aramis started toward the stairs but was intercepted by d'Artagnan.

"You're back!" the young Gascon exclaimed. "Where have you been? Did Athos tell you about Porthos?"

Aramis held up a hand to stall him. "Yes. And I believe the captain has the answers we seek."

He didn't know what had gone down between Treville and Porthos, but if Treville had done what Belgard claimed he did, there had to be an explanation.

Aramis knocked on the door, having to resist the urge to barge in before being granted permission.

It was a prolonged moment before the captain's muffled voice answered, "Come."

Aramis pushed his way in, followed by Athos and d'Artagnan. Treville was sitting on the edge of his bed, his shirtsleeves billowing freely. There was a glass of liquor in his cupped hands. Aramis exchanged a look with Athos and d'Artagnan.

"Captain?"

Treville set his glass aside. "You have questions."

"More like I have answers but don't know what the questions are that go with them," Aramis replied. He hesitated. "Did you know this would happen when you told Porthos who his father was?"

Treville sighed. "I feared it."

"Then why now?"

Treville lifted a troubled gaze to theirs. "Because he deserved to know. And it was de Foix's dying wish to unburden this secret from his soul."

"It would help if we knew what was going on," Athos put in with a touch of impatience.

Treville looked away. "A long time ago, I did something cruel…and unforgivable, to Porthos and his mother."

Aramis's chest tightened with apprehension. "Belgard told us you abandoned Porthos and his mother in the slums," he said carefully.

Athos's brows rose in surprise and d'Artagnan looked flabbergasted. Treville just nodded.

"I did it in the name of friendship, but it's a stain on my honor I can never remove—and I have spent every moment since trying to atone for it."

Aramis's jaw tightened, unsettled by the confirmation. He couldn't reconcile what he knew of the captain with such a heinous act.

He put that aside for the moment to focus on the other part of these contemptible doings. "There's a young girl downstairs whom Belgard's daughter and her husband Levesque gave to a group of noblemen to hunt for sport." He glanced at Athos. "That's where I've been."

Treville made a sound of disgust. "Belgard. If I never hear that man's name again, it will be too soon."

"There's no evidence he's involved," Aramis replied. "Camille only ever saw Eleanor and Levesque. There was another girl at the estate too. She was murdered when the two tried to escape." Aramis shook his head, partly sickened with himself that he hadn't done more when he'd seen Levesque abusing those girls. "I have a feeling they've been doing this for a while."

"Doesn't sound like Porthos's family is everything he'd hoped they'd be," d'Artagnan remarked quietly.

"Perhaps Levesque is running the show right under Belgard's nose?" Athos put in.

"If you knew Belgard like I do, you might not be so charitable," Treville countered.

There was more to the story, there had to be, but it mattered little in the face of one vital question.

"Could Porthos be in danger?" Athos asked, voicing Aramis's thoughts.

Treville hung his head. "Porthos made his choice."

"He doesn't have all the information," Aramis argued. "And Levesque and Eleanor need to be stopped."

"We'll go in the morning," Athos interjected. "Right now you need that wound seen to."

Aramis took a controlled breath; of course Athos was right and they couldn't go immediately. Truth be told he was feeling sick and needed to close his eyes before the room started swaying.

"Captain," he implored one last time. "Porthos needs our loyalty now more than ever."

Treville was silent for a long moment, then exhaled audibly and nodded. "We will go in the morning. I'll get a formal statement from the girl and arrange for her to be escorted home to her family."

Aramis inclined his head in acceptance. He hated the thought of leaving Porthos alone in that place, but perhaps their friend needed some time to cool off before the captain showed his face to him again.

Something wasn't right in all this, but it wouldn't do them any good if Porthos was too angry to listen and find out what.

.o.0.o.

It was late when Porthos returned to the estate. The place looked even more ominous and abandoned in the dark of night, a shuttered crypt of architecture guarding equally dark secrets.

Porthos shook the feeling off and went inside. No one came to greet him and there wasn't a sound to be heard throughout this part of the house. He made his way toward his father's study, figuring he'd find the man there.

Sure enough, Belgard was sitting at the desk with an open book in hand. His posture was taut and his hawkish eyes already on the door when Porthos entered.

"Porthos," he said in surprise. "No one announced you."

"I, er…I let myself in," Porthos said self-consciously.

"Well, this is your home," Belgard replied, still sitting stiffly. "You're free to come and go as you please." He paused. "You spoke to Treville, I take it?"

Mention of the captain's name reignited Porthos's earlier fury. "Mm," he mumbled, almost too angry for words. "He confirmed everything you said."

Belgard blinked in apparent surprise. "He didn't attempt to justify himself?"

"Oh, he tried," Porthos scowled.

But there was no excusing what he'd done, what he'd continued to do every damn day since he'd brought Porthos into the Musketeers.

Belgard seemed to consider something for a moment, then visibly relaxed and stood up. "Welcome home, my son."

The familial address helped soothe some of the burn of Porthos's disappointment and heartbreak. He hadn't lost everything; he had his family.

His sworn brothers though…that hurt to lose. Porthos realized he hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye to Aramis.

But he knew where to find Porthos. In fact, Porthos could imagine Aramis showing up soon hereafter to try talking him into coming back. But that wasn't an option.

Belgard rounded his desk, expression suddenly intense. "You'll have to be on your guard with Levesque."

Porthos quirked a confused look at him. "Levesque?" Porthos had already put that donkey's arse in his place.

Belgard nodded, eyes suddenly hard like flint. "Why my daughter ever married him is a mystery. He's just waiting for me to die, so he can inherit my land and title. Be careful," Belgard warned. "He's a dangerous man and your arrival puts his plan in danger."

Porthos furrowed his brow. "Why's that?"

"My marriage to your mother was clandestine but legal. That makes you my heir."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," he admitted. Heir to an entire estate? He'd come here expecting to be no more than a bastard offspring, but to find he was legitimate? That made him part of the nobility…

It was a hard thing to wrap his head around.

"Well, now's the time," Belgard urged. "You must strike first."

Porthos frowned. "What are you talkin' about?"

"Don't you see? You must kill Levesque."

Porthos's brows rose sharply. His father wanted him to _kill_ his half-sister's husband? No qualms, no reservations, just like that? If Levesque wanted to come after Porthos he could damn well try—at his own peril.

He started to shake his head in a mixture of disbelief and refusal when the door suddenly flung open, banging against the bookcase against the wall, and none other than Levesque and Eleanor stormed in, Levesque limping.

"What is the meaning of this?" Belgard demanded.

"You foolish old man!" Levesque spat. "Did you really think this mutt from the streets showing up was a coincidence? That he wasn't here to muck up our business?"

Porthos raised his hands, ignoring the slur. "Whoa, I don' know what yer on about."

Levesque turned toward him with scathing vitriol. "Your friend followed me earlier, stuck his nose where it didn't belong."

Porthos stiffened in alarm, and he took a menacing step toward the Irishman. "Where is Aramis?"

"To hell with him—"

Levesque looked ready to lunge at Porthos, but before either of them could engage, a loud report cracked the air. Porthos snapped his gaze to Belgard, who stood with a smoking pistol in hand. Levesque's hands went to his stomach, a strained wheeze passing his lips as he dropped to his knees. Eleanor shrieked.

Belgard leered down at his son-in-law. "Did you think I wouldn't guess what you wanted, Levesque? This is a family concern. You think I'd simply hand it over to an interloper?" He drew his shoulders back and smiled. "My son is going to succeed me now."

"What have you done?" Eleanor screeched. "You're insane!"

Porthos watched as Levesque slowly fell onto his side, small choking sounds emanating from his throat.

"It's time to claim your rightful place as my heir," Belgard declared to Porthos. He jabbed a finger at Eleanor. "Take her into the woods and hunt her down. Claim your prize."

Eleanor sputtered in astonishment.

Porthos could only stare dumbly. "What?"

"You would do this to your own daughter?" she hissed at Belgard.

"My ungrateful witch of a daughter," he rejoined spitefully.

Porthos couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he slowly started inching toward the door. "I knew there was somethin' wrong with this place, the moment I stepped into it," he muttered.

Belgard whirled toward him. "You are a son I could be proud of—a brute of a man, strong, a survivor."

Porthos's stomach turned at the tone of that assessment. Somehow his father's pride in him no longer held the allure it had just this morning.

"Prove your savagery!" Belgard urged. "Hunt down your sister like the sniveling wretch she is."

Porthos shook his head, sickened. "No."

He didn't know how things had gotten so turned around, but he didn't want to be here anymore.

Belgard's cheeks puffed puce with rage. "You would abandon your father?"

"If he's a man like you," Porthos snapped back. How could he have been so blind? Belgard wasn't some innocent, maligned figure; he was a villain of the most despicable kind. Porthos was disgusted to be related to him at all.

He swept out of the room, needing to get away. A group of men were waiting in the hall and blocked his path. Porthos clenched his jaw as he pulled up short.

"Take my ingrate children and lock them up," Belgard's voice sounded from behind him.

Porthos shot a furious look over his shoulder.

Belgard's eyes were hard like stone and glittering with sinister delight. "And in the morning you all can have a mighty hunt."

Porthos turned back just as the men swarmed him. He threw a couple punches but was quickly overtaken, his arms seized and wrested behind his back. Someone yanked his pistols and swords away.

Porthos struggled, futilely, and let out a raging bellow as he was dragged away.


	4. Chapter 4

Porthos banged against the doors of the barricaded carriage house, but they didn't budge. Slamming his fist down one more time in frustration, he finally slunk back to the wall and slumped to the floor against it.

"This is all your fault," Eleanor spat from where she sat across from him.

His jaw tightened. He'd rather have been locked up with a spitting dragon at this point than his half-sister. "Yer jus' like your father," he shot back. "Rotten to the core."

She sneered at him. "At least I'm not a gutter rat." She made a disgusted sound and looked away.

Porthos flexed his fingers in and out of fists. He had been a gutter rat. But however awful that upbringing had been, in a way it had been better than what he would have had here. In a twisted way, he realized that whatever Treville had done by taking him and his mother away, he had actually saved him. Abandoning them in the slums was going to need a reckoning for, and Porthos still harbored some anger over that, but maybe Treville wasn't the worst villain in all this.

Night passed excruciatingly slowly and Porthos couldn't get any sleep, not trusting his cell mate not to find a way to murder him just out of spite. When morning finally dawned, men came to retrieve them. Porthos struggled on principle as they bound his hands but didn't put up a real fight with several pistols aimed at his chest. Eleanor was restrained as well and they were both dragged out into the courtyard.

Belgard stood waiting. "I'll give you one last chance to join me, Porthos."

Porthos raised his chin. "Never."

For a moment it seemed Belgard was sorrowful, but then his mien hardened and he turned his attention to his men. "I wish you a merry hunt."

"No!" Eleanor screamed and raged as she was hauled away.

Porthos was seized and manhandled after her while Belgard remained behind. Apparently he didn't engage in the very behavior he seemed to champion.

Porthos fought against the three men restraining him, to no avail. He and Eleanor were taken outside of the estate grounds to the edge of the forest where they were then untied.

"It's always the nobles who get to have this kind of fun," one of the men remarked as he primed his musket. "We should make the most of it."

Porthos drew his shoulders back. "I'm not gonna be hunted down like an animal."

Another ruffian cocked back the hammer of his pistol. "Then you'll die here like a dog."

There was a beat of tense silence, and then Eleanor turned and took off running into the woods. The men exchanged a few sniggers, then flicked prompting looks at Porthos.

He gritted his teeth, fury bursting in his chest. But he turned and ran, if only for the chance to turn the tables and find an opportunity to fight back.

.o.0.o.

The Musketeers and their dragons arrived at the Marquis's estate, making a grand entrance when they touched down on the lawn outside, though nobody was around to see it. Treville, Athos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan dismounted and strode toward the main doors of the chateau. A servant opened up for them, but before they were allowed entrance, a harsh voice barked something from further inside the house, and the maid went scurrying away. Treville pushed the door open and stormed inside without invitation.

Belgard was in the foyer and his eyes widened. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in disgust.

Treville took in the visage of his one-time friend. The years had changed him, taking the once proud-bearing nobleman and twisting him into this hunched, unkempt weasel.

Or perhaps Belgard had always had that air about him and it was just that Treville could now see it so clearly.

"We're looking for Porthos," he said.

"And your son-in-law, incidentally," Athos added.

Belgard sneered. "Porthos," he spat. "He had such potential. But you ruined him. Made him soft and squeamish."

Treville saw the others exchange flummoxed looks; those were not words they would use to describe the fierce warrior Porthos was. But Treville knew Belgard's appraisal of things lacked something to be desired.

"Where is he?"

Belgard shrugged. "He is no longer my concern. And that idiot son-in-law of mine is dead."

Treville's blood ran cold. "What have you done?"

Belgard narrowed his eyes scathingly. "It matters not. Porthos no longer trusts you. Even if he was here, he would not see you."

Athos surged forward and grabbed Belgard by his robes.

Belgard sputtered in outrage. "Unhand me, you peasant!"

Athos drove him backward and slammed him against the wall. "Where is Porthos?" he exploded.

Treville almost barked at Athos to stand down but caught himself. Belgard was vicious and cruel-hearted, and they needed to find Porthos now. Treville was getting a bad feeling about what may have transpired since last night.

"Porthos abandoned _me_!" Belgard raged back. "My own son. I offered him everything and he threw it back in my face. He proved himself to be nothing more than the street scum he grew up as. There's only one use for that."

Treville's jaw clenched and he could see Athos getting ready to shake the man. But then Aramis spoke up,

"The hunt. You sent Porthos out as prey, didn't you?"

Belgard glared at him disparagingly. "Well, I heard you stole the last one."

Treville felt the air get sucked out of his lungs. He should have listened to Aramis and come sooner.

"We'd better hurry," the marksman said.

Treville nodded. "You and d'Artagnan stay with Belgard." He could tell neither of them was happy with the order, but Aramis had been wounded only yesterday and Belgard couldn't be allowed to escape.

Athos finally released the Marquis and shoved away from him.

"It's my right to do with my offspring as I see fit!" he yelled at their backs.

Treville rounded on him, his own rage finally bursting forth. "You don't deserve a son like Porthos!"

Shaking his head in disgust, he whipped back around and he and Athos hurried out to their dragons.

"Porthos needs us," the swordsman said to Vrita, who needed no other prompting to launch into the air with them and fly out in search of their missing man.

.o.0.o.

Porthos kept a harried pace through the woods, trying to find a place to lie in wait for his pursuers. He had no idea where Eleanor had gotten to. Likely the hunters would split up in their search of them, evening the odds a tad. For him anyway. Part of Porthos hoped he didn't run into his half-sister, lest he be honor bound to protect her. He doubted she'd accept help from him anyway.

He found a heavy branch he could use as a club and finally stopped to take up position behind a large oak tree. Then he waited.

The forest was silent, driven to a quiet hush after his mad dash through the vicinity. A twig snapped and Porthos gripped the branch tighter. Several moments later, a man passed by the edge of the tree into his line of sight. Porthos stepped out and swung with all his might, clobbering the man right in the face. He went down like a rock and didn't get up.

But another man was several yards behind him and raised his pistol to shoot. A ball struck the tree near Porthos's head, splintering bark. Porthos turned and charged him. He was lucky the man only had the one musket. The hunter dropped the gun and reached for his sword, but Porthos barreled into him before he could draw. They both went flying to the ground, Porthos landing on top with enough clearance to deliver a right hook. He punched him a second time just to make sure he stayed down.

Glancing around the woods, Porthos quickly unsheathed the hunter's sword, then rifled through his pouches for a powder packet and ball to reload the pistol with. Once that was done and he was now armed, Porthos got up and kept moving, this time back through the woods toward his pursuers rather than fleeing them.

He spotted two figures making their way among the trees. Stopping to take aim, he fired. One man went down with a cry. The other whirled toward him just as Porthos ran forward, blade brandished. The second hunter raised his pistol but Porthos was already too close; he threw his left arm up to bat the gun up and away, then cut down the thug with the sword in his right. Four down, half a dozen to go.

There was a small whiz through the air and something slammed into Porthos's leg. He staggered under the shock of it and glanced down to see a crossbow bolt sticking out of his thigh. His stomach lurched at the sight just as his knee buckled and he went down. He caught sight of the shooter a distance away, the man striding toward him as he notched another bolt to his crossbow.

Porthos gritted his teeth and tried to get up, but the searing pain knocked him back down. His hand shook as he raised the sword still in his grip, but it was useless as the hunter stopped a safe distance away and raised his weapon for the kill.

A raucous crash shook the trees and snapped branches, followed by a resounding thud that rattled the ground behind him. Porthos jerked his head around and gaped in shock at the sight of Treville atop Kilgar. The captain raised a pistol and shot down the man with the crossbow. Sliding from the saddle, he rushed to Porthos's side.

"How many more are out here?" he asked urgently.

"Five?" Porthos grunted as he clutched his leg. "Unless Eleanor found a way to take some out."

"Belgard's daughter?" Treville said in surprise. "Why is she out here?"

"She got on Belgard's bad side too. What are you doin' here?" Not that he wasn't grateful, but he couldn't help the automatic surge of bitterness at seeing the captain again.

Treville's expression was grim. "Aramis told us about these hunts Eleanor and Levesque were running. We thought you might be in a bit of trouble."

Porthos nearly sagged in relief at the news Aramis was all right. "Levesque is dead," he ground out. "Belgard shot him."

Treville didn't look surprised, and Porthos found he could add guilt to the roiling emotions he was feeling. If he had trusted the captain from the beginning, things could have turned out much differently.

"Can you stand?" Treville asked.

Porthos steeled himself and nodded. Treville gripped his arm and helped him up, then braced him as he hopped over to Kilgar. Climbing into the saddle was excruciating and he bumped the bolt in his leg which nearly made him black out. The dragon snaked his neck around and used his snout to give Porthos a boost. Treville climbed up behind him, careful of his leg, and they took off to fly out of the forest. Porthos caught a glimpse of Athos and Savron circling the woods a ways off before they swooped down toward something.

Vrita glided in beside Kilgar and let out a worried chirp at Porthos. His heart constricted at the display of loyalty from his dearest friends that they had come for him after he'd so callously turned his back on them.

It was a short flight back to the estate where Rhaego was waiting on the lawn. Treville dismounted, then helped Porthos slide out of the saddle, once again trying not to jar his leg. He wanted to rip the blasted bolt out but also wasn't looking forward to it because he knew it would hurt like hell.

The front doors opened and Aramis and d'Artagnan came out.

"Porthos!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, rushing over to help support some of his weight. He and Treville helped Porthos hop over to the front steps and sit down. Aramis swiftly knelt at his side and began to examine his leg.

"Belgard?" Treville asked.

"Restrained," d'Artagnan replied. "He's not going anywhere."

"I don't believe it hit bone," Aramis reported, gently prodding the area around the bolt. "We should get you inside so I can remove it."

Porthos winced, then frowned as he took a second to study his friend, who looked more tired and drawn than usual. "You don' look so hot yerself."

"Let's just say we've both gotten a taste for the Marquis's sense of 'entertainment.'"

Porthos looked away. While he'd been buying into Belgard's lies, Aramis had been out in those woods fighting for his life.

"It wasn't your fault," Aramis said quietly.

"Don' make it right."

Aramis shrugged at that because they both knew it was true.

They all looked up at the sound of wing beats as Athos and Savron returned. Eleanor was in the saddle in front of him, looking as disgruntled and shrewish as ever. As soon as Savron landed, she slid out of the saddle and stumbled away with a scowl. Porthos supposed he shouldn't have expected her to be grateful for having been rescued.

Savron snapped at her, stunning her into staying where she was as Athos dismounted and then came over to grab her arm and manhandle her toward the house. He paused to give Porthos a look of concern. Porthos nodded that he'd be fine. Athos acknowledged it with a nod of his own, then proceeded to drag Eleanor into the house.

"With yours and Eleanor's testimony, we'll be able to press charges against Belgard," Aramis commented. "And then there's of course the charges to be laid against Eleanor and Levesque."

"Levesque is dead," Porthos replied.

Aramis glanced briefly at Treville and d'Artagnan. "Yes, Belgard mentioned that. It's hard to discern what's the truth and what isn't coming from him though."

It wasn't a rebuke but Porthos felt ashamed nonetheless. How much of this mess was his fault?

"You know," Aramis went on, lowering his voice for Porthos alone again. "If it wasn't for you, there would be more country girls kidnapped from their homes and brought here to be used as sport. Whatever else happened, some good came of this."

Porthos's brow furrowed at that new piece of information, and he thought of the maids they'd seen when they'd first arrived at the estate. He didn't yet have the whole story but there would be time for that later.

"Ready to move inside?" Aramis asked.

Porthos grunted and braced himself. "Yeah."

D'Artagnan stepped forward and he and Aramis helped Porthos to his feet again. They turned to go inside when Porthos stopped abruptly.

"Hold up," he said, angling himself to look at Vrita, who'd been watching from a few yards away, obviously worried but keeping her distance. Porthos beckoned for her to come over. "I'm sorry fer walkin' out," he said. "On all of you," he added, glancing around to encompass them all.

Vrita let out a puff of air in his face, then lowered her head to his. He leaned forward to give her an awkward hug while standing on one leg. He lost his balance though and ended up putting weight on his injured one to catch himself, which made said leg buckle. His friends swooped in to catch him.

"Time to patch you up," Aramis said.

Porthos patted Vrita one last time as Aramis and d'Artagnan helped him hobble inside and into the nearest room with a table where they could lay him down. He could hear Belgard and Eleanor in another room down the hall screaming curses at each other.

So when Athos nonchalantly came in to punch him out, Porthos found he really didn't mind.

.o.0.o.

It wasn't until Porthos was back at the garrison infirmary recuperating that Treville finally came to see him. He wasn't sure if the captain had been intentionally avoiding him—Treville had been busy dealing with the magistrate and Belgard, and Porthos was laid up by his injured leg. Still, they needed to have this conversation and Porthos stewing in bed waiting for it wasn't helping his state of mind.

The infirmary was empty save for the two of them. Treville pulled a chair over to sit across from Porthos, folding his hands across his legs and waiting patiently.

"I want the truth, now—every word of it," Porthos said.

Treville nodded soberly. "It's true, de Foix and I left you in that terrible place. Belgard begged us to do it. His father was going to disinherit him, and Belgard said he'd kill you both himself, unless we took you away."

"Why not refuse?" he demanded.

"We'd sworn a blood oath we'd always help each other. I'm ashamed I thought I was bound by it. I regretted what I'd done immediately and came looking for you, but you'd disappeared."

Porthos swallowed the resurgent bitterness. "But you found me later an' made me a musketeer."

"Yes."

"Because you felt guilty?"

"Because you deserved it. I would never give the uniform to someone who didn't—you know that!"

Porthos looked away. He did know that, or thought he had. The truth hadn't untwisted the way he felt inside though.

"I want you to know how proud I am of the soldier you are," Treville went on. "If I had a son, I would be honored if he was just like you."

Porthos dropped his gaze. Treville sounded genuine, and it warmed a place in Porthos's heart he'd thought broken. "Any man would be lucky to have you as a father," he finally said, looking up again. He paused and shifted his gaze past the walls of the infirmary. "In fact, I'd say there's a good dozen here who would say the same."

Treville inhaled audibly, seeming taken aback and touched. "I'm sorry you didn't find what you were looking for."

Porthos nodded. "I didn't find it because it was already here. I was jus' too thick to see it at the time."

Treville smiled.

They were interrupted by the door opening and Aramis, Athos, and d'Artagnan coming in.

Aramis faltered. "Captain…"

Treville stood up. "We're done."

And they were. Porthos had come to terms with everything and was ready to move on. He perked up at the sight of a bundle squirming in d'Artagnan's arms. "Is that…?"

"Since you're stuck here for a bit, I thought I'd bring her to you," d'Artagnan replied with a grin. He unwrapped the blanket to reveal the smallest dragon Porthos had ever seen.

The little creature was twisting and turning, nostrils flaring rapidly and eyes darting around to take in this new surrounding. D'Artagnan carefully set her on the bed, keeping a hand at the base of her wings to preemptively prevent her from scrambling away. Porthos marveled at her.

She made a bunch of snuffling noises and ruffled his blankets. Porthos reached out a hand to let her sniff him.

"A pup for a pup," he quipped.

D'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

The baby dragon pushed her head into Porthos's palm, and he started petting her, working his way down to scratch her belly as she rolled over on the bed.

"With Belgard and Eleanor facing criminal charges," Athos spoke up, "your inheritance is yours to claim."

"I don' want it," he immediately replied. That place wasn't home; its wealth didn't make it one. Porthos quirked a smile though. "Still…it is bigger than yours."

Athos's lips twitched.

"Then you'll be needing this back," Treville said. He reached behind the bed and presented Porthos's pauldron.

Porthos felt a wash of humility and gratitude, and he reverently took the uniform back.

"All for one?" Aramis said.

Porthos huffed. "Yeah, I know."

Ayelet rolled over and bumped his injured leg, eliciting a gasp. D'Artagnan scooped her up and away, sitting on the next bed over with her. With a smile, Treville nodded to them and took his leave.

And as Porthos settled back against the headboard among the company of his friends, his brothers, he realized where his true family had been all along.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> As a wildfire devastates the south of France, the Musketeers are sent to combat it. But some things aren't what they seem.


End file.
